


For Always

by orphan_account



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, R.I.P, hes so sad, poor angsty boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 10:00:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10090250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Christine had always wanted a daughter. But how could she love a child that bore Erik's face?





	

Christine had suffered for hours in labour. For this.

Holding their newborn child in his arms, he had been overwhelmed with joy, but only for a moment. When he turned to gaze at them, that joyful anticipation turned to dread. Their face - it was pinched tight with tears, but besides that - the skin was pulled tight across their cheekbones. The chubby cheeks one would expect of a newborn were entirely absent. Their eyes were deep blue, like all newborns, but who knew whether they would turn yellow, like his? Not unexpected, given their father, but still painful to behold, there was a shallow hole where there nose should be. Erik nearly retched.

"Is it a boy or a girl, mon cheri?" Christine's voice was tired, she herself exhausted, but her eyes were exuberant, anticipatory.

He checked quickly, anything to avert his eyes from that face, so very reminiscent of his own. That curse that he dared pass on. He felt lightheaded.

"A girl," he managed to whisper.

Looking into her husband's face, Christine grew concerned. There was pain there, pain she recognized and was loathe to see again. "Let me see her."

He nearly broke then, handing her their child. She took the bawling infant into her arms and looked at her for a moment. She then gazed up at Erik again, steady in a way he'd never been.

"We will name her Charlotte."

The way she said this so calmly, as if this was a normal child and not Erik's disfigured progeny, almost made him angry. No, he was already angry, but not at them - at himself. How could he let Christine bear his child with the knowledge that there was a possibility that it could inherit his monstrous visage? How could he damn this child, his daughter, to life as a pariah? 

He turned from the bed where his wife and daughter lay to face the desolate underground. It had always seemed brighter, more beautiful when Christine occupied it, and it was more cheerily decorated now, but as he surveyed it he was transported once more to a life of cold solitude and abuse at the hands of others. For what, his face? The face which he shared with the squalling infant in his wife's arms?

He stalked away, crashing through furniture and breaking countless items on his way. He didn't care; anything had to be better than this torture, hearing the damned child scream. 

"Erik!" Christine's voice was tinged with frustration as she called for him to return. She was not unsympathetic, but she _was_ exhausted and couldn't take care of this child alone so soon after giving birth. 

He left anyway, neck deep in self-imposed torment.  


-

Erik stopped his frenzied race away from Christine and their daughter above the stage. He curled up as small as he could below the tangled ropes, tears pricking his eyes.

His head was spinning. He was horrified, and he was furious. He cursed the Christian God and every other, he cursed the fates, and the mother who gave him this face but could not give him her love.

How could he expect this child to live a normal life with her father's face? And she would hate him, he knew it, for bringing her into this world as a freak of nature. Christine probably hated him too, for giving her a horror for a daughter. Naming her was a farce - Christine didn't want him, nor did she want her, they were fiends.

He was responsible for all of this! If he had not fallen so hard for Christine's soprano, if she, besides her voice had not been so divine in both body and spirit, if she had not been so self-sacrificing to love him... but that was all over now. A baby girl lay in his love's arms, a baby girl that would grow to despise the world as he had, for surely her mother held no maternal desire for that _thing_.

Erik shook with each breath, racked with sobs. Silent guilt and self-hatred had always plagued him, but silence was accompanied by long bouts of composing, angry melodies that rattled the walls. There was no music now, only a terrible shame seeping from his very bones.

How would he face Christine again? How would he look her in the eye and apologize for everything he had ever done to her - his love was an imposition into itself. She could not truly love such a miscreation.

It was time to face his demons. He rose from his perch, body shaking, and made his way down once more.  


-

Erik began shivering as he entered the home they shared, violently shaking by the time he reached their bedroom. He entered slowly, deliberately, but not without his breath quickening and his mouth drying up. Christine lay lax on their bed, the baby - Charlotte - nursing greedily. She looked up as he entered, a small smile gracing her otherwise expressionless face.

"Christine, I- I returned to apologise for everything that I have put you thr-"

"You returned. That is all that matters; I was worried that you might not." She spoke softly, obviously relieved.

"I'm afraid I cannot stay. I've burdened you so greatly, begging you to love me even as I look upon you, an angel, with the face of a demon." His voice began to quiver as he continued, "You carried our daughter with so much grace, although I cannot believe it pleased you to do so, I cannot- I cannot conceive you looking upon the face of our child with anything beyond pity and disgust."

Christine's expression hardened as she moved her arms to better cradle the infant, now drifting to sleep having eaten her fill. "Erik, come here." He inched forward until he was at the edge of the bed upon which she lay. "Look at me. I adore you." She took his hand and placed it on her face. "Never have I believed that you were the least bit demonic, much less disgusting. Your face is a fact of your life, and also a fact of mine, because Erik, _I love you_."

She continued, weakly pulling him forward until he was sitting beside her, "You are mon ange, and I cannot stand for you to spew hatred for yourself and our daughter. She is named Charlotte and I do not pity her; she has my love, my darling, as do you. Forever, for always."

Erik had relaxed throughout her speech, but tears still streamed down his unmasked face. Christine brushed them away. She then lifted Charlotte up, and made to hand her to him. "Put her in her bassinet, and then come lay with me."

He did as she had requested - no, it was not a request, but a demand: there was a firmness in her voice that could not be denied, the words she spoke we're meant to be taken as instruction and obeyed without criticism. He needed it, he may have sat there for hours, despondent, without it. 

He lay beside her, still fully clothes and shaking. "You took me as your husband, and still I cannot comprehend that you are not repulsed... by me and the curse which all of our children, should we have more, might bear."

She rubbed his back in slow circles. "Sleep, now. I am very tired, and I know you are as well. But remember this, even in dreaming: I love you, forever."

"For always," he breathed in reply, already drifting to sleep.


End file.
